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He winces. “Yes and no. There was some of that, but also just not wanting to leave you behind to deal with him. Which wasn’t my call to make.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can I help? That’s shitty work, and I’ve finished my morning appointments.”
“You don’t need to spend your Saturday pulling weeds, Tom. We’re good.”
“I got this,” he says, striding into the mess and grabbing at a weed. “I have a weird idea of fun.”
“Unless your idea of fun involves deep hand lacerations, may I suggest...” I tug at my garden gloves. “You wear these, and I’ll wield the clippers.”
As I pass them over, he blinks, and his mouth tightens. I follow his gaze to the faint ring of purple around my right wrist.
“Yes,” I say.
His gaze lifts to mine, brows knitting.
I continue, “I could lie, but yes, it was Liam. We had a disagreement last night. Full disclosure—I provoked him. He grabbed my wrist. A threat, nothing more.”
“Nothing more? A threat of violence is—”
“Just that. A threat. He grabbed my wrist to show me he’s a big, strong man. In return, I showed him that strength is not a prerequisite for self-defense. We parted with a better understanding of each other.”
There’s more to that story. So much more. But the gist of it is true. Liam grabbed me, and I made sure he’d never do that again.
“I handled it,” I say. “And his car’s gone. With any luck, he got called back to Tampa on a legal emergency.”
“Or he might just be out grabbing breakfast.”
“Your realism is not welcome in my fantasy. Now, let’s get this cleared, and then I’ll take one of those buns.”
